


take me home

by kanpekinalady



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanpekinalady/pseuds/kanpekinalady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa can feel it in her bones. Winter is coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take me home

**Author's Note:**

> Written back in June for the 'You Win or You Die Kink Meme'.  
> Prompt: They are on opposite ends of the Narrow Sea and have taken on new names, yet when they lie in bed at night they think of the sister they lost and where she is now.

**we know each other,**

The fire burns and the sheets keep her warm but Sansa seeks the cold, hopes for snowy mornings when she lays in bed. Her dreams are haunted by grey eyes and brown locks, impish grins and mischief that makes her toes curl even in her sleep. She dreams of a sister unknown to Alayne Stone.

It is odd to finger brown curls instead of their usual red. It unnerves her to see Alayne Stone's reflection staring back at her when she looks into the mirror. As if Sansa had never been, a fairytale princess never to exist. It leaves a bitter taste she cannot swallow down. With the same unease as when she braids her hair in the mornings, Alayne lies in bed at night and tugs on her brown locks. Not Sansa's, no, Alayne's. 

But even Alayne cannot control Sansa's fears and hopes. Too strong to be contained. When sleep comes to conquer her in the midst of the night, she asks herself "If I were Arya, where would I go?" and is reassured by the fact she cannot answer her own question. Arya had always been the wilder, the stronger one of the two sisters. Wherever she was, Sansa hoped that she was running wild and free. Castles had never done the younger any good.

Sometimes Sansa thinks of how often she dismissed her sister and willed her to leave her alone. Sansa has to cradle her face in her hands, hiding the burn of shame on her cheeks. She wants nothing more but for Arya to return to her. What she once thought unladylike about Arya, she finds herself praising and Sansa's laughter is bitter. 

Thunder rumbles strong and loud above her and Sansa falls asleep reminiscing the times it would bring Arya crawling into her bed. Before sleep closes her eyes, she reminds herself that Arya too is made from cold Winter that will come again. Sansa prays (knows) that when it does, it will bring her sister home. Back into her arms.

Sansa can feel it in her bones.

Winter is coming.

**like the rain does.**

Arya is Arya no more. She is Cat of the Canals. Used to go by Salty. Arya is a tale of once upon a time and never after. She takes on plenty a name and plenty a face. Sometimes she forgets. Sometimes she wants to forget. But there is Needle to remind her and whilst pretending comes easy when there are things to do and places to be, her face slips the moment darkness comes and claims her his.

For it is when the night cradles her close that she cannot will her demons away. Ghosts she once held near now supposedly forgotten. She prays for them all. To the Seven. To the Old. It is but when she prays for Sansa, for her sweet, sweet, annoyingly sweet sister, that she prays more. Cat remembers flashes of whom she used to be and flashes of a girl with long red hair and sparkling Tully eyes, silly and lovesick. Naive.

She bites down on her bottom lip and wonders how Sansa is doing. She remembers days when it was better. Days where she could play in the mud and Sansa would shriek her name in terror, their brothers would laugh but it would be the sour, thin line of Sansa's lips that would be all the encouragement needed to flick dirt at her sister.

She prays Sansa is safe from Lannister claws, safe from boy kings too young (too cruel) for the game they are playing. Safely locked away in the highest tower of Winterfell, like the princesses she had wanted to be. But Cat knows no one keeps a wolf locked up and even if her sister's body has Lannister paws marked all over, she is sure Sansa is fine. Sansa was born for court after all.

But when lightning strikes nearby and the heavens grumble in spite, it is Arya and not Cat that reaches out for the sister behind her, crestfallen when she finds nothing there but air. She rubs the tears from her eyes and stares at the layers of dirt caked on her skin. She is Cat of the Canals. There is no room for ghosts quite like Sansa. Not now.

Arya is nothing but a memory long forgotten.

Not forgotten at all.


End file.
